I Quit: Moving to Schitt’s Creek

This is not what you think it is. My physical person and family aren’t moving to Schitt’s Creek.  But for a moment, my life was written and directed by Dan Levy, and his father Eugene Levy became my vision of the face of God.  And when it was over and I was left with the feeling of having met with peace and vision, I met with a new season.  It flew into social media posts and book form, Just Jami: “Oh, dang, I think I might be Jesus.” the message that will change the world!!! (or not, whatever.)” My daughter even wrote the foreword.  It’s good. 

Then it went from book idea to course idea and then I thought, “I won’t be doing any of that.”  

So, instead, I quit. I am moving to Schitt’s Creek. 

It came to me in a flash, in an episode of Schitt’s Creek. Schitt’s Creek, if you don’t know… oh, never mind.  Don’t read this if you don’t know.  

One of the characters met with a chance to get back to their fancy life but they opted instead to stay in the run-down hotel of the “sorry” little town of Schitt’s Creek, because of love.  

There is no launch of my revelation.  I am not taking questions.  And this is not an opinion piece. Wait, maybe it is? No, mostly it is a goodbye letter for myself.  See, I am just a girl who tried really hard to conform and met with the truth of cyber reality, I cannot.  I did as I was created to do, write, draw, and teach. Things that I can do, things I love to do. With certain holidays, summer vacation, spring break, and anytime I don’t want to. But the rest of the time I am writing. Pretty sure I am also always drawing.  But from now on, if and when I teach, I am only teaching in the ways that words teach.  

Also, words don’t teach.  

Which makes all of this quite ironic. Words are the structure by which we teach, how we receive information, but we learn from feelings we have from our experiences.  That is simple. Touch a hot stove you get burned, lesson learned.  I can tell you it is hot.  But you will learn from cooking.  And the teacher in me, wants my students to stop, think, ask, and learn. Oh, and did I mention? I don’t want students.

 A belief is just a practiced thought. When I was in college I thought I would be a teacher.  I thought about it so much, studied it, got a master’s degree in it.  Then I accidentally became a published author.  I used to think that being a published author meant I had to teach or perform on social media according to the rules governed by the algorithm gods and publishing giants.  And I practiced these combined thoughts in the chaos of HATING my learned behaviors.

This is why I am moving to Schitt’s Creek. 

Here is my challenge.  I know me. Apart from my age, pedigree, my religions, or my craft, I know that I am still very young.  I still wonder. I still seek to know. That was it, the longing. There was this space, this stillness that called me to compose again, from the experiences and healing that came when I was willing to expose all of it so that all of Creation, the ones who I thought I “reach,” would know, you are not alone and… there’s more. 

Yes, I boldly professed we are seen, heard, and known. That was the conclusion I came to, the freedom and truth I met with at the conclusion of my 4th book, Rest, Girl. Four months after I turned that manuscript in, 8 months before its release, my world came to a screeching halt after a traumatic neck injury. 

At some point, probably in late March or early April, after quieting my mind in Schitt’s Creek, the entirety of that will be revealed.  

But essentially, for a few months, I lost all of myself.  Without a Bible, pastoral care, or any hope, I met with complete freedom.  And I got my voice back.  I started composing like a crazy person, two fiction novels, more children’s books, and what I thought made sense in my next composition of Women’s Non-Fiction.  My friends, Carey Scott and Shelby Spear, who both have beautiful spiritual wisdom, read as I wrote.  They applauded my work.

“Unbelievable!”

“You sound like you did in Stolen Jesus!”

“Wow, you are full of authority and joy!”

Words bubbled up and snark unleashed and I realized, Einstein was right, you can’t solve problems with the same mind that created them.  I had bowed to the imaginary rules of social media “reach,” and I had cowered under the heavy hand of “be a good Christian.”  When good and bad are subjective to the offense the reader chooses to take.  While Moira begged her children to find nude photos of her online, to prove she was something, once upon a time, I realized,  I don’t want any of this.

And words came again;

When anger circumvents advocacy, and passion is replaced with rage, and work turns to a burden, because the message is so important, and the audience won’t follow, words still come.  But they are not healing words.  They are desperate words. Or they are just without depth, just extra quality adjectives because the author tries to make them fit and blames the reader for their inability to read between the lines and see,  I am not your Rachel Hollis.  

Still, I went back to the “stage” to the spot I was told to stand and “take it down a notch.”

My posts were met with rage.  My inbox was full of wrath backed with scripture. Sure, I can take this a step further, confess that I see Jesus and receive words from Him, we are good friends.  At least then there is a category, with the wild ones who penned, Letters from Jesus, Conversations with God, and Jesus Calling. But I say none of it to be categorized as anything more than the human that I am, and the potential we all have for Earth as it is in Heaven if only we would stop asking the world how to perform.  Furthermore, if that deems me a crazy person, so be it.  I am at peace.  You needn’t trouble yourself with my view.  It serves me well, it brings me joy.   

And, I am a teacher.  A good teacher helps the student learn the words they teach. A great teacher prods the student on to find the next revelation and the next. They do this by opening the channels of our feelings.  They may lead us to laugh, cry, and create relationships with the content.  But I know, no one can MAKE you feel anything.  We give that power away, yes.  But when we take it back, when we decide what we feel, what we see and experience as “good,” how can it be bad?  

Dan Levy did this in Schitt’s creek.  

He did it by showing character instead of writing words to prove character.

And the crowd went wild.  

So, I decided to turn my two fiction novels into screenplays.  I would just say all the things in a way that the words would be of such grand character, they would be loved.  Oh, and if you love the words that created the characters, maybe you’ll love me.  

But authenticity, the kind of blunt, rogue character of Schitt’s Creek, that is where I wanted to be.  I wanted to stop the madness I spoke of, trying harder.  But maybe you couldn’t follow along, because I didn’t want to keep teaching the same thing, I wanted to move forward in companionship.  That is why I didn’t do a launch team for Rest, Girl.  The rules don’t work, when they do not apply.  

How do you start a religion? 

You meet with enlightenment, testify to the parts that sell, sell tickets to the show, withholding the next gem and the next, until you have enough to buy a building.  Then, of course, your followers meet with your folly and question why you think what you think and go looking for someone else to think for them.  Nope, I am not here to preach, I am not starting a church.  I won’t be doing any of that, thanks anyway.  

I meant it when I said, “Jesus, why can’t I just be like Hemmingway, hiding behind my glass, saying words, in no need of response?”  And the words flowed so quickly there was a rush in my gut, “Love will always resolve itself as itself.”  That was the prayer of my heart, to teach so that students would progress and move on. But the “professor” hadn’t graduated, she won’t until her death. And I am not Alexis Rose. The beauty, femininity, and flippancy by which Alexis flies by, sells. Culture has led us to believe we have to do whatever it takes!  No matter what, you do XYZ, or sure as Schitt’s Creek, LMNOP could happen! 

OH!  HOW I WISH I COULD SAY ALL OF IT RIGHT NOW!  But instead, I will say this. 

I wrote a post about Pocahontas, an opinion piece if you will.  It has been well received. However, the biggest RAGE against it is in reference to “gaslighting.”  Actually, it is a gaslighting joke.  Kind of like;

 “Are you gaslighting me?”  

“Gaslighting is not a thing.”  

I received NO LESS than 20 messages telling me off for joking about gaslighting.  And it was then I realized, the classroom is too big.  The students are both intentionally and randomly selected by a machine that is robbing us of all that we were created for in, Love. Fear does not care if what I say today can only be of benefit if you saw me yesterday, it is operating only for its expansion, to create more fear.  And as I expose my joy, my personal passions, I am only instigating confusion and fury in the classroom because they missed an episode.  That feels personal like I have failed as a teacher.  Even if it isn’t, it feels that way.  

And I don’t want to play anymore for the same reasons I didn’t want a platform to begin with.

I AM NOT THE ANSWER!  That is what we have created, Beloveds.  We have fed this beast because we have been taught to the test.  Our schools showed us how to pass.  Then our peers voted on our status.  Then we got a taste of “fame” or the illusion of being understood, because people who would not have anything to do with us in high school, are flocking to our pages and begging we sit with them at the next reunion.  

I am still the same ridiculous loser that you rebuffed. The same girl whose locker you wrote SLUT on.  You’ve been catfished by the reality of who I have always been.

And I can’t play with you anymore, because I am moving to Schitt’s Creek. 

I know I have a way with words.  And it was fun to share our family, we are pretty funny.  It was fun to hear the roar of laughter when I spoke. But the next viral “big deal” and the next are now my competition instead of my siblings in Christ. And I can’t stick around and watch them be exploited for their normalcy, and destroyed by the exposure.  

The detriment, in an imaginary, crumby motel by the side of the road, where delusion meets with reality, is how Schitt’s Creek became the only place that it was okay for me to say what I was going through. 

 “I have doubts about this?”

“These people are ridiculous and real. I care about them, and I want the best for them.”

“There really is more.”

“How can anyone tell anyone else who to love?”  

And the show ended.

I had closure on the “lesson.”  It was taught well, and it left me to think bigger and smaller.  I realized my imaginary teaching circle is too big, my borders needed to be secured.  The classroom of social media has no record of attendance.  Not one I am willing to tend to.  At my core, from the very beginning, I wanted and believed that I was welcome to be myself.  I am responsible for that part.  It is not a safe place, social media, to learn or study.  Our senses of spring-loaded with fantasy, and we are desperate for authenticity. We need straight answers, and I don’t have them. 

Don’t ask me anymore.  

At the height of my personal need to be authentic, to finally say what I was going through, not what I had learned, but my journey, my longing, my suffering, and my hopes, I thought it was safe to finally have a “tribe,” one that would get me.  This sounds like an accusation as if I am angry, and I am, but only at myself.  

It is not real.  The Meta University that it says it is, it is not real.  If I am not there, I will still exist.  Social Media is a war zone of minds trying to find answers to life’s questions and arguing their beliefs in hopes they will get the RED CHECK, A+, PASSING, YOU GO GIRL, we were programmed to seek since we began to crawl.  

Now walk!

You got it RUN!  OH WOW!  You are fast!

Please stop now, sit down, shut up.  Paul says.  

In grade school the learning was progressive.  In Facebook school, the learning is a chaotic mess of hashtag theology, some awakening that is the trend of deconstruction, and the continued bowing to an authoritarian view, all whilst ranting about authority.  My heart is breaking:  YOU ARE MORE!  IT’S NOT TRUE, YOU ARE NOT IN SHAMBLES! YOUR FAITH IS NOT A WRECK! STOP SCROLLING! PICK A TOPIC TO INVESTIGATE!  HOLD ON! LET GO!  AND CHERISH THE INTIMATE PRIVACY OF YOUR SEARCH!!!! 

This is the blanket of all discourse.  We never go within. And it is because we are too busy searching for the answer on the outside because that is what we were taught to do.  And I am no longer willing to distract or be distracted. I will no longer go looking for my answers based on the filtered fabrications of “good.”

I used to follow this super conservative speaker (he’s an ass, I am not linking him.)  Since I have been off of social media more and more I was intrigued by these messages in his post timeline. 

1.  Jesus saves!  Let us lift our voices in song this beautiful Sunday morning!
2. What is this CRAP?  Stand for the national anthem you brats!  Freedom is not free!  We stand for America.
3. My congregation will not be held slave to fear.  No mask, no jab, no problem.  All are welcome!  We will not be bullied!

Okay, Brother Pastor. 

Jesus does save.  Freedom is not free.  You would be shocked at what freedom costs our young service members, my Marine son included.  Also, freedom means what to you?  That you get to choose who the bully is?  I imagine if my ancestors were kidnapped and enslaved, far from their life to build your NATIONS MONUMENTS, you would take a knee when that nation was mentioned too. 

Amen.  

The next time this man’s opinion wandered through my feed it was a picture of African American men dressed in all black marching in protest with the caption: “ISN’T THIS TERRIFYING?”  I guess? But I imagine white men, pastors, law enforcement, and church officials, dressed in all white, pounding a cross into your lawn and lighting it on fire was the most terrifying thing you could fathom, real trauma for you and your babies, who no one will protect authentically.  Oh, and that wasn’t a peaceful protest, that was called a lynching.  

And I am not interested in playing lynching games with you anymore.  

Deconstruction has been happening since LOVE convinced a poor cobbler to cross the pasture and fetch the wealthy banker’s daughter.  Oh, Jack and Diane, we are all looking for more.  We are all evolving and changing and learning. Messages are taught, embraced, and rejected, that is how we progress. That is the message I keep getting as I evolved, “Are you deconstructing?”  Yes, Felicia, we all are always seeking more. But I am not doing it for you, I am doing it for me.  The only difference is, someone thought maybe I would do it and come to the EXACT same conclusions, ones they could tweet about.  

Yes, I will still write.

I have a devotional coming out next year that I get to illustrate.  And, I will blog. Although, I find the verb “blogging” obnoxious. Sure, I will send emails now and again to my list. When you see an email from me, it will be something I really want to tell you, so you can know, it is real.  Not the rote nonsense someone said would grow my following. And I am not that great, maybe this sounds as if I think I am. Maybe that is the catch in my gut, I am just a girl. I am tired of trying to convince the world otherwise. 

I am working on a workbook with many of my study habits and some tangible tools for readers to navigate the lifelong experience of learning through a relationship with their Creator or deconstructing, whatever you want to call it.  The work will defend itself by being nothing but itself, love.  But I am not going back to post stories about my family and revelations about my God, to be inundated with criticism because I love Gay babies, margaritas, and looking outside of the “good” Christian resources.  

You’ve been told deconstruction is happening.  Now you are alerted to the latest trend.  I won’t add to the confusion.  And I have no intention of “luring” any reader into my web of chaos with the promise of being the teacher when I am the student.  

And I am you.  

We deserve better.  

You can read my books, take notes on my evolution.  But I won’t be posting updates or defending my work to appease the latest person who obviously knows more, but still hasn’t landed that book deal.  See, getting published for my craft isn’t church.  My books are just a collection of how I escaped.  The next ones and the next ones, if any, will be the same discoveries. A timeline of my suggestions that may or may not be of benefit to you and is never my final answer.  But it is not a party trick.  Some days, when I am tired, when it seems too much, I don’t need to be told otherwise by a machine who does not know what it is like for me, a human. 

I am not pulling a “goodie” Christian move by stepping out. 

And I am not stupid, a social media audience gets those book deals.  But C.S. Lewis and Stephen King didn’t have to beg for their work to be considered.  And their character, the character of their children didn’t cost them at the box office or the courtroom of viral public opinion.  

Christianity, whatever it is that everyone is hating or dissecting and poking at is not MY FAITH.  The church that allowed molestation, corruption, withheld information, and promotes condemnation and separation, is not MY FAITH. And Facebook, where the masses collected and hashtagged their discoveries, is not the place to discern and grow MY FAITH. 

MY FAITH is not contributing to the energy of hate anymore.  

I realize, you may have no care or idea who I am, like I said, this is more for me.  You can subscribe to my email and I will let you know if anything new transpires or if my family does something outlandish.  But go, please, go read. Go study.  Get out in the yard and feel the grass between your toes.  Inhale, and count pine needles, rethink what you think you know about abundance.  There is so much to experience, just beyond the walls of the illusion of connection.  Taste and see.  

You are seen, heard, and known.  

I love you.  

See you around Schitt’s Creek. 

Just, Jami 

Watch the Precious Love montage from Schitt’s Creek here.  And join me and the Love Revolution, not by following me, but by going and living it!  And when you are wondering, when you need to feel it, find something YOU LOVE and celebrate.

P.S.  I have suspended my Etsy shop as there were abusive messages coming there too and some of my pieces’ images were stolen and sold for print on Amazon.  All art inquiries can be emailed to jami@jamiamerine.com This is also where you will find new posts and study tools. Many of my pieces continue to show up in Homegoods too. You can message me on Instagram and Facebook, but I do not have the apps anymore, so it would be best to reach out via email.  My t-shirts can be found here.  

At this time my other ancillary products and learning tools are only available through my website and changyourmindchangeeverything.org.

You can also find my parenting courses here.  This is imperative work I am passionate about.  Our children need to be taught the real power of Social Media so they can operate from a place of peace and clarity.  This course is not about getting off social media, it is about organizing the information in a way that children can learn.  I highly recommend it. Learn more here.

Jesus be all over you!  Jami